In the Workshop
by Neon Filth
Summary: While Jimmy toils away in his workshop, Sheen has 'other' method of passing the time. Mature for sexual themes. Possibly adding to in the future? Eh .. complete for now.


X.......X

"Hey, Sheen!"

Dark brown eyes slid from the half-open comic book sprawled across the teen's lap to the face of his childhood friend, obscured, as it was, by a protective metal mask. His telltale curl of brown hair looped absurdly over the top of the mask, lank with sweat, and Sheen vaguely wondered why it hadn't caught fire from the stray sparks yet.

"Would you mind handing me the measuring tape? It seems my initial figures might be a tad bit offset," he said with a chuckle. His boyish voice may have been dulled with the onset of puberty, but his laugh was still as it was in the fifth grade – dorky and childish.

"Sure thing," Sheen Estevez said with a shrug, sliding his comic into the chair as he stood.

The tape measurer was exactly where it had always been – in the fifth drawer from the top of the metal tool cabinet, next to an array of related items. Protractors, rulers, levels, framing squares. Neutron was always somewhat obsessive over the arrangement of his tools – an obsession that only worsened in the seven years he'd had the workshop.

Carefully closing the drawer, Sheen turned and tossed the tape measurer across the room. With a start, Jimmy managed to catch it, fumbling for a few seconds before finally securing a firm grip.

He laughed in relief, hooking the end of the tape to a section of the metal behemoth before him. "I said _hand_ it to me, but that works, too."

Sheen shrugged once more, though he knew his friend didn't see it, and returned to his comic.

Jimmy was always like that. Once he had an invention buzzing around in his head, it practically consumes him.

More than once, Sheen has had to bring him food – he often forgets to eat when in moods like this.

Sometimes, Sheen envied that. Envied being able to produce that amount of concentration.

_God only knows it's damn near impossible for me_, he thought bitterly.

Though, Neutron insists, it's gotten better over the years.

"We couldn't get you to focus on anything back then, Sheen," he had mentioned once, elbowing him playfully, "It's different now. Hell, you're actually pretty smart!"

A snarl tugged at Sheen's mouth at the memory. _"Pretty" smart. Of course. No one can be "really" smart like you, can they Neutron?_

That, he realized, was Jimmy's key flaw – his ego.

It had driven Carl away many years ago, before middle school had even finished. The asthmatic wimp had finally grown balls and told Jimmy to stuff it. He was gone, now – his family moved out of Retroville.

Sheen never liked him in the first place.

He was too weak – pitiable, really.

And Cindy . . . . Ugh. God forbid anyone mentions _her_ around Neutron. After a few casual, puppy-love flirts in the fifth grade, their relationship fell to its imminent doom. They dated, Sheen remembered, on and off for a couple years before she finally broke off for good. Cindy was never one to be talked down to, and that's exactly what Jimmy did. Every single day.

In reality, Sheen was the only one left.

Reopening his comic, Sheen submersed himself once again in the valiant efforts of Captain Lightning

His intense love for UltraLord, too, had changed. The obnoxiously-jawed hack was too kiddish, anymore.

Captain Lightning was a bit more interesting. Blood, guts, explosions, smutty heroines – the things every eighteen-year-old boy thrived on.

Captain Lightning himself was a bit more . . . masculine.

His pitch-black latex uniform was drawn tight across the muscular planes of his chest, his arms. Electric-yellow lightning bolts on the heels of his steel-toed boots and plastered on the black leather of his cape denoted his superpower – the ability to shoot lightning bolts, of course.

He exuded a God-like presence – one that Sheen found . . . interesting.

His eyes meandered over the next panel, a full-body shot of the hero, his lip curled into a self-assured sneer as one of the bad-guys groveled at his boots. His cape trailed behind him, ragged at the edges, and his spiked black hair was tossed to one side in the wind. Sheen's eyes trailed down the length of the hero's frame – muscular, demanding, powerful. Between his legs, Sheen noticed with an awkward blush, Captain Lightning boasted a rather large bulge – enhanced by the tight latex.

Sheen found himself focused on that bulge, the outline of the powerful hero's sex, and felt his own quiver within his dark jeans. Blushing further still, Sheen glanced furtively behind the back of his chair at Jimmy.

The teen prodigy was still enthralled by the creation of his own thinking, toiling away behind a blowtorch, his face hidden by the mask.

Absentmindedly, Sheen ran his free hand over his clothed member, shuddering slightly at the sensation. He glanced back down at the comic, then sneakily back at Neutron.

_He wouldn't even notice, would he? Not if I do it quick enough. . . ._

Quietly, so he wouldn't be heard over the whoosh of the blowtorch, Sheen unbuttoned his jeans, sliding into his boxers with a small, shuddering sigh of joy. Producing his cock, already swollen and hot with excitement, Sheen pushed down the elastic of his boxers to expose his balls to the somewhat cool air of the workshop. He was clean-shaven, a habit he insisted with meticulous fervor, and the tip of his cock glistened with a few drops of pre-cum.

Looking back down at the comic, at his beloved hero, Sheen pumped his hand up his solid seven inches, rubbing his thumb over his tip and biting back a moan. He squeezed lightly with each downward motion, imagining how it would feel to slip inside Captain Lightning – to grasp the hero's muscular ass cheeks and plunge his rock-hard member between them.

He rubbed roughly against the protruding muscle on the underside of his cock, imagining it was Captain Lightning's cock that ground against his – undulating, needy.

The faster his hand went, the closer he felt himself coming to pure, white ecstasy.

His balls bounced on the taut elastic of his boxers, hot with arousal, and Sheen prepared himself to orgasm.

However, it was at that moment that he noticed the loudness of the blowtorch was missing. The workshop was quiet, except for . . . the dull sound of approaching footsteps. Sheen felt a cold pit sink into his stomach, and he quickly flopped the comic over his abdomen, over the open zipper of his jeans.

"Well, I think I'm done for the day, buddy," he heard Jimmy say, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't been caught. Yet. Casually, he lolled his head back, feigning a yawn.

"Huh?"

Jimmy hung the blowtorch on its respective hook on the wall, grinning back at his friend.

"Did I wake you up, sleepyhead?"

Sheen nodded slowly, feeling his dread return as Jimmy approached him. Walking to the door of the lab, Jimmy turned. "You coming?"

Sheen felt his cock jump with arousal at the dual meaning to Neutron's question, and smiled. "Yeah, just a second." Neutron shrugged, opening the door and walking out. "I'll be up at the house – I'm starving."

Sheen watched Jimmy walk away, saw his friend's ass - so perfectly tight in those jeans, so luscious. He began to stroke his cock once more beneath the cover of the comic, fast and hard, imagining Jimmy's mouth over it - his tongue caressing the tip with each bob of his head, his bright blue eyes staring up at him. He ejaculated with a whispered moan, hips jolting upward with ferocity as his arousal left him.

He bit his lip, blushing hot with morbid shame and arousal, and flipped the comic over his knees – the pages splattered with cum. His cock twitched as it expelled the last of it, growing limp as the arousal faded.

Giddy with taboo lust, he willed Jimmy to look back once more before going up the stairs – to see his cock limp against his belly, wet with cum, and to know.

_To know how badly I want him_.

. . . But he never turned back.


End file.
